#Hurt Dick Grayson | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iriswords · 2 years ago

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Febuwhump Day 26 - Forced to choose

You can also read this on ao3 and find the rest of my febuwhump fics here

tw: torture, mentions of pit madness, mentions of child trafficking and child prostitution as well as adult trafficking and prostitution, implied fear of sexual assault, watching a loved one being tortured, implied child sexual assault

Fandom: Batman

Words: 4166

“Familial love,” Mask said to himself. “Such a nice thing to play with. I will never get tired of it.”

In a few days, he would be rid of the most important of the Bats. There would still be a few left to take care of, including the terrifying Black Bat, but Mask’s shoulders would be lifted from a hefty burden just by taking down these five Bats. But first, he got to have some fun.

It took five henchmen to pin Batman to the floor and effectively handcuff him. Several dozens lay unconscious on the floor, but Mask had expected the Bats’ skills and had hired nearly sixty henchmen, taking care to mention that no injury sustained during the job would be a source of financial compensation. Paying henchmen to get their injuries treated was one sure way to lose money, and Mask had only made the mistake twice before adding a new clause to his contracts. And if henchmen protested, he had no qualms about killing them.

Mask watched contentedly as his men dragged Batman out of the room and reported his attention to the three other vigilantes struggling against his men. Red Robin and Robin were already cuffed, but Nightwing was posing more problems, even though no less than six men restrained him. One thing Mask had learned and his men never listened to was that Nightwing, despite his cheer, was a strong and slippery bastard, skilled enough to take Batman in a fight if so he wished. But Mask had anticipated all those struggles, and the vigilantes could not escape him now. Not if they wanted their brother to survive.

Mask turned to the Red Hood, who was tied to a chair next to him. He was still unconscious, blood slowly rolling down his temple from the wound that had gotten him captured. He was blissfully ignorant of the half-dozen guns aimed at him. His brothers, who had foolishly come to rescue him and fallen into Mask’s trap, were less so. It had been stupidly easy to get them to surrender once he had threatened to blow out the Red Hood’s brain in front of them.

“Familial love,” he said to himself. “Such a nice thing to play with. I will never get tired of it.”

“Wakey, wakey, birdie,” said a voice, and Jason’s breath caught in his chest, his lungs seizing with panic. The last person who had called him ‘birdie’ had been the Joker. That was not the Joker’s voice, but Jason knew that was no proof.

Jason woke to icy water being thrown at him. He flinched back instinctively and slammed his head against a hard surface.

Spluttering and dreading what he would see, Jason opened his eyes. The light accentuated the throbbing in his skull, but Jason didn’t care about the pain. In front of him stood a man wearing a familiar mask. Jason’s lips pulled into a snarl as he took in his long-time enemy. He tried to take a step forward, but iron cuffed encased his wrists and ankles and kept him chained to the wall.

“I’m honored you’ve decided to join us,” commented Mask.

“Fuck you,” replied Jason and took in the rest of the room. Beyond Mask, similarly chained, stood Batman. His cowl had been taken off, but the domino he wore underneath was still on and covered his eyes. Nevertheless, the rest of his face was tight with anger. Jason wasn’t certain if Mask was its only recipient or if Jason, too, had messed up.

Mask took a step forward, and Jason’s body tensed in anticipation. Roman Sionis was a dangerous and vindictive man. Jason had been very careful not to let himself be caught by him until now; he knew what the man would do to him.

Sionis’s long fingers curled under Jason’s chin and forced him to look up. Fear coiled tight in Jason’s stomach. He knew Mask well, knew of his crimes and his traffic. As a child, when he lived in the streets, he was terrified of being caught by one of Sionis’s men. He has been aware of what happened to children, and what kind of work they were forced to do. Since coming back to Gotham as the Red Hood, Jason had done his best to eradicate the man’s operations and save children from his clutches. He had thought himself relatively safe from the man. The leer in Mask’s eyes told Jason otherwise, and old panic clogged his throat.

The rattle of chains made Mask turn his gaze away from Jason. A second later, he dropped his hand from Jason’s chin, and Jason exhaled shakily. Only then did he notice the source of the noise. To his left, on the far end of the wall, Nightwing strained against his chains, his features twisted by protective wrath. In between Jason and Dick stood Damian and Tim, also bound.

They had been captured. Jason first, and Mask had used him as bait. Whatever happened from now on would be Jason’s fault. For all of his bravado and rebuttal, Jason did not want to see his family be hurt, much less because of him. The Pit had long since faded to the back of his mind, barely present, and all the murder urges it had caused him had disappeared along with it.

“Is there something wrong?” Mask asked a gagged Nightwing. Amusement played on his lips. “It is so good to see you all chained like that, at my utter mercy.” Mercy Jason knew he would not have. Not for anyone, but certainly not for them. “You have been a thorn in my side for too long.” He turned back to Jason and fisted his hand in Jason’s hair. “You, especially. Always countering my plans and dismantling my operations. You call yourself a crime lord but you let your stupid morals rule you, Hood. When will you understand that traffic pays well? That whores pay well?”

Jason tried not to let his fear show. Past and present mixed in his head, but he could not let that get the best of him.

“People are not yours to dispose of,” he snarled. “Especially not kids.”

Sionis’s hand dropped to the back of Jason’s neck. His face was inches away from Jason’s now, and Jason had never been more grateful for his domino mask and how it hid his eyes.

“But kids are so much more pliant. So innocent. They think that if they do what you ask of them, you’ll stop.” Jason could not breathe. He had been like that, too, once. Before the cold reality of the world settled in and he learned not to trust anyone. Thankfully, by the time he had found himself in the streets, he already knew to count on no one else than himself. He did not dare imagine where he would be today if he had been one of those innocent and pliant kids back then.

Mask straightened up abruptly. “But I didn’t bring you here to discuss morals with you. As I was saying, you have all been a spectacular thorn in my side, and it is high time I get rid of you. But first, I need compensation for all the bother you’ve caused me, for all the men you cost me, and all the times you put me in Blackgate. All the injuries you gave me. You vigilantes think yourselves untouchable.” Jason resisted the urge to snort. If vigilantes thought themselves untouchable, villains such as Mask thought themselves gods on earth. “Time for payment has come.”

Mask turned his attention to Batman. Something in Jason loosened. “We don’t have all that much time. I would greatly have enjoyed torturing all of you one by one, keeping you as pets for months on end, until you are begging me to kill you, but I cannot afford this kind of time.” He walked up to Batman. “I will torture one of them only.” Jason’s chest clenched painfully. Something bad was about to come out of Sionis’s mouth, he could feel it.

“And you will choose who.”

And you will choose who.

Bruce’s heart stopped in his chest. Mask’s words rang over and over again in his ears.

Now he understood why he was alone on one wall while his children had all been put on the opposite one. Fear choked him. Mask was asking him to choose which one of his children would be tortured. Bruce could not do this.

“Me,” he said, his voice as firm as he could make it.

Mask burst into laughter. “Nice try, Batsy, but you’re not an option.” He stepped aside and gestured at the four boys chained to the wall. Bruce’s boys. “I want you to choose one of them.” When Bruce stayed silent, his mind struggling to find a way out of this, Sionis added, “Come on, it can’t be that difficult. Just choose which one you love the least.”

Jason made a sound at the back of his throat. He had clearly been shaken by Sionis’s closeness to him earlier and he was still shaking faintly.

Bruce could even less make a choice, now. He could not let any of his sons believe he didn’t love them. It was false, oh so false. He loved them all so much it burned him alive every time he thought them in danger and smothered any other emotion when he knew them happy. Bruce knew he had flaws. He knew he had efforts to make and that he could do and be better. But never would he consciously let any of his children believe he didn’t love them or loved them less than their siblings.

Sionis moved over to Jason again, and Bruce’s second son tensed up. With the domino still on his face, Bruce could not see his eyes, but he could easily imagine the fear swirling in them. Jason’s eyes had always been the part of his body that betrayed his emotions the most. His face was second. Bruce had always believed it was because his heart was too big and too good to hide its true intentions.

“Will it be this one?” asked Sionis. Amusement played on his lips. Bruce let him talk; the more time he took before starting the torture, the more chances there were that someone would come for them before any of Bruce’s sons could be hurt. Sionis looked at Jason contemplatively. “No, probably not. Mr. Hood here is the prodigal son, after all, isn’t he? Or perhaps he isn’t anymore. You’ve had fallouts, if I’m not mistaken.” Sionis leaned towards Jason, who could not suppress his shudder. Bruce strained against his bindings but he could not win against relentless iron. “Does daddy still love you after all the things you’ve done, birdie? We all know Batman’s morals are dead set, while yours are freer. Have you atoned for the wrong you’ve done, or is today the day you pay for your deeds?”

Bruce saw the waver in Jason’s expression, and he knew his son believed Sionis’s words. He longed to drown Mask’s vile words under his screams, to yell at his son how much he loved him.

It didn’t matter what Jason had done in the past. He had apologized a thousand times, and Bruce knew how much the Pit had twisted his mind in those hard months.

Bruce kept his mouth shut, despite the burning of his tongue and his chest. Sionis was unpredictable, and Bruce did not want to risk his son’s safety. He could make sure Jason knew he was loved later; right now, Bruce had to make sure he stayed alive and as unharmed as possible.

Tim did not flinch when Mask stopped a foot away from him and observed him with calculating eyes. Out of the corner of his eyes, Tim could see Jason shaking.

Tim watched as Mask moved onto him. He was not scared of Mask himself. The man, like many villains in Gotham, was an egotistical idiot. He would make a mistake sooner or later, and the rest of the family would come and rescue them. Still, Tim was scared of what the villain would do. He did not want to be tortured, but he would take it over any of his brothers being hurt. But Sionis’s henchmen had gagged him, and he could not offer himself up for torture.

“Will it be this one?” asked Mask. “A genius, but everyone knows geniuses are the most annoying. They’re know-it-alls, always displaying their knowledge and thinking themselves above everyone else. Tell me, birdie, how much patience have you used up in Batman? How long until he gets rid of you anyway?” Tim kept his face neutral even as the words reopened barely-healed wounds. The man was observant, Tim could give him that. Or perhaps he just knew them all that well. “Do you think you are that useful that he will keep you around forever? That you are so smart that he will forgive all your flaws?”

No, Tim didn’t think that. He had never been meant to be anything else than a placeholder until Batman stopped trying to get himself killed or until another, more suitable Robin showed up. Most days, he did not understand how he was still here. His insecurities were wounds that started to heal when Jason came back into the family, before Damian had arrived in Gotham. Then, Bruce died, and no one believed Tim when he said he was still alive.

Being fired from Robin, by the original Robin with that, brutally reopened all of Tim’s wounds. Now, Mask was doing his best to carve them out again, hatching at them until Tim broke.

He knew he was the logical choice. Jason truly was the prodigal son, and Bruce would never voluntarily expose him to such harm. Damian was the youngest, and Tim would never want him to be chosen for torture if there was another option. Dick was the first, he was Bruce’s original sidekick, he was Nightwing. Tim was just… Tim. Sure, he was smart. Sure, he did his job well and he had recovered Bruce from the timeline. But Bruce didn’t owe him anything and Tim was easily replaceable.

No matter how much it hurt, he hoped Bruce would choose him over his brothers.

“Or will it be this one?” asked Mask as he stopped in front of Damian, whose face was set in his trademark scowl. He did not shrink under Mask’s gaze, and Bruce knew Sionis was nothing compared to Ra’s. Still, Bruce hated to see his youngest son—so young that baby fat still clung lovingly to his face and that his hands were tiny enough to be engulfed in Bruce’s—towered by a villain such as Black Mask.

Bruce watched with tears in his eyes as Mask moved onto Damian. He was glad that his domino hid them. Tim’s expression had given nothing as Mask prodded at his insecurities. His poker face was, as always, perfect, and Bruce could not tell whether Sionis’s words had hit their mark or not. He knew Tim battled with his place in the family. But had he managed to shield his mind from Mask? If any of them was capable of it, it was certainly him.

“I know I wouldn’t want him as a child,” continued Mask. “So angry and violent. So snippy, so arrogant. You must be a pain to deal with every day, kid. Let’s hope for your sake that Batsy over there has patience, but we all know it isn’t his forte. You’re young, but if you’re annoying enough, he may very well choose you. Does his love for your brothers overrule his love for you? Are you lovable enough that he won’t want to hurt you?”

Damian muttered something behind his gag. From habit, Bruce knew his son had said something derogatory in Arabic. But he also knew Mask’s words had gotten to Damian, and more tears pooled in his eyes. He loved them all equally, and Bruce was aware his children knew that. At this moment, however, Mask was toying with their mind, and their insecurities flared up.

The worst part was that Bruce would have to choose. He would have to make one of them think that what Mask had said was right, that the son he chose was the one he loved the least.

“Or will it be the Golden Boy?” asked Mask, settling in front of Dick, whose body strained against the chains. Tense as a wire and fury carved into his expression, Dick looked dangerous. More than that, he looked lethal. Bruce noted with satisfaction how Mask stayed a careful foot and a half away from Nightwing.

“You were only the first draft, after all. A tryout to see what would work and what would fail. And look! As soon as you stopped being Robin, Batman replaced you. You were never meant to last, it seems. Why wouldn’t he choose you?”

Bruce clenched his eyes shut. He remembered the many arguments he had gotten into with Dick about Bruce’s love for his son. He knew how hurt Dick had been when Bruce told him Robin was over and then when Bruce told him Jason was Robin. Mask had the uncanny ability to see past all their shields and dig out their most intimate insecurities.

Mask turned to Bruce. “So? Which one will it be?”

Bruce could not do this. He could not choose one of his sons to be tortured. He could not choose the one he loved most because he loved them all equally and he didn’t want to see any of them hurt.

Bruce knew already he would not pick Damian. He was too young and his body too fragile for the violence Bruce knew Mask was capable of. It would be so easy to kill him or injure him permanently.

It did not make his choice easier.

But he had chosen nonetheless.

“Nightwing,” said Batman, and Damian exhaled in relief he did not want to feel. He would never admit it, but Mask’s words had hit closer to home than he liked. Everything the man had said echoed Damian’s own insecurities. And his father had not confirmed them.

If Richard showed a reaction, Damian did not catch it. Mask cackled in delight at Batman’s resigned words and moved towards Nightwing. Damian’s muscles clenched instinctively. He knew what came next, and he hated himself for being relieved he wasn’t going to be the one subjected to it.

Damian did not want to watch his brother being tortured. He didn’t want to have to hear his cries and know his pain. He wanted his brother safe and sound. Still, selfishly, even after everything Richard had given him, Damian could not stifle the relief coursing through his veins.

He would not be tortured today.

Hurt washed over the relief before long. He knew, rationally, that Mask’s words had been a mere mind game. That they were not true and that they were simply aimed to hurt. But Mask had hit all his brothers’ insecurities, and Dick had not escaped the psychological dissection. Dick had been struggling with his place in the family for a long time. He knew his family loved him, but their love languages were so different from his, so much more subtle, that he often doubted the reality of their love.

Dick’s mind went blank for a second when Batman said his name. Relief came as the first wave. He would have chosen himself over his brothers a thousand times over. Had he not been gagged, he would have begged Bruce to choose him.

And now Bruce had chosen him. Had it been a tactical decision? Dick was the eldest, after all, and though Jason was strongest, all of them had seen how affected he was by Mask. Dick was the most logical choice. But his mind could not stop wondering if Bruce’s choice had been an answer to Mask's question. Which one of them do you love the least? Was Dick the answer?

Despite all his doubts, Dick held his head high as Mask approached him. He would not let his fear and hurt show; that was the least he could do for his family. Mask called for his henchmen, and several men soon rolled in a complete torture panoply. Mask contemplated from his position next to Dick.

“I can’t quite make a choice,” he said conversationally, and Dick wished villains would speak less and act more because he was growing incredibly tired of their constant monologuing. (Though it at least had the merit of buying them precious time.)

“Batsy,” Mask called out. “Burns or electricity?”

Bruce did not answer immediately, and Dick knew he was considering the most tactical choice. Both would hurt, but which one was most likely to cause lasting damage? Which was most likely to hinder Dick’s performance on the field?

“Electricity,” Bruce answered eventually. Dick did not miss the slight waver of his voice, and he felt guilty for the warmth it spurred in Dick’s chest. Maybe he had truly been a tactical choice.

Mask uncaringly tore through Nightwing’s suit to expose his chest, and Dick resisted the urge to growl. It would have been useless since he was gagged, but he really would appreciate it if villains were more careful with vigilantes’ suits.

Once Dick’s chest was exposed enough for Mask’s tastes, he put electrodes on it. Dick’s heart hammered in his chest. Soon, it would be going wild.

At last, Mask yanked the gag out of Dick’s mouth with a twisted smile. “I want to hear your screams, birdie,” he whispered, and Dick could not help the shudder than ran through him.

Mask turned on the device, and Dick threw his head back as fire tore through his nerves. He clenched his teeth hard not to scream, but he could not blink back the tears streaming down his cheeks.

The electricity stopped in a matter of seconds. Dick’s tongue tasted like metal, and his limbs still twitched weakly. He knew the reprieve would not last, and his only comfort was that Mask would not draw out the torture for as long as he could and would not kill him yet.

Electricity seared through him again. Dick stopped thinking.

On the third time, he could not hold back his scream. On the fourth, black spots dotted his vision. After the fifth, his head lolled limply against his chest. His nerves were alight with pain.

“Broken bone or stab wound?” asked Mask

Bruce’s wrists would be raw by the time they got out of there, but he could not care less. He watched in utter helplessness as Mask patted Dick’s cheek mockingly before turning to Bruce again. A wide, wild smile broke his face in two. Bruce wanted to punch it off.

Bruce’s breath stuttered in his chest. He was sick and tired of Mask’s games.

“Do I get to choose the emplacement?” asked Bruce. He could not make a tactical decision without knowing what it would entail, and the least he could do for Dick was spare him the risk of permanent injuries as much as possible.

Mask pondered on Bruce’s question. “I’ll give you a choice between two options,” he decided finally.

It was not as good as what Bruce wanted, but it was something. Mask did not want to kill Dick yet. He would make the torture last as long as possible before killing him, and that excluded wounds that led to a quick death.

“Stab wound,” Bruce answered. Broken bones led to too many risks of healing badly, and Dick would be devastated if a bone healed wrong and stopped him from keeping his work as a vigilante.

Mask’s fingers trailed over the knives laid out on the rolling table his henchmen had brought in. They finally settled on a small dagger, and Bruce exhaled in relief.

“Leg or abdomen?”

The answer was no difficulty. “Abdomen,” Bruce replied and tried to ignore the way his heart shattered when Mask violently stabbed Dick, and his son cried out in pain. Blood immediately welled up from the wound and rolled down Dick’s suit-clad legs, pooling on the already-dirty floor.

Bruce expected Mask to turn back to him. Instead, the villain aimed at Dick again and buried the dagger in his shoulder. Dick screamed brokenly and crumpled. His right shoulder snapped out of its socket under the sudden pressure. Mask laughed and turned away, the dagger still embedded in Dick’s other shoulder.

The room’s door slammed open at this instant, and a dark figure lunged inside. Black Bat took Mask down before any of them could react. When she straightened up, the villain unconscious at her feet, her eyes gleamed with unrestrained fury. Spoiler strolled in a second later, and together they detached the five other vigilantes from the binds.

As soon as he was free, Bruce rushed to Dick’s side. His son barely held on to consciousness, his eyes half-lidded and hazy with pain. He smiled up at Bruce. “I’m glad it’s over.”

@febuwhump

#my writing #creative writing #fanfic #fanfiction #whump #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday26 #dc #batman #batfam #hurt dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #bruce wayne #hurt batfamily

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writergeek · 2 months ago

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@batfam-big-bang Chapters: 8/20 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), New Teen Titans Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Batfamily Members & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & The Titans Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain/Wayne, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Kory Anders, Donna Troy, Roy Harper, Gothamites Additional Tags: Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Fic as Social Commentary, Social Media, Mixed Media, Acid Attack, bar brawl, bar violence, First Aid, Field Aid, Permanent Injury, Injury Recovery, injury aftermath, PTSD, Unreliable Narrator, stalkers, (but in the not fun way not in the Tim Drake way), Police procedures, Medical Procedures, (but I am neither a cop nor a doctor nor a nurse - I do my best but I’ll get things wrong), Medical Inaccuracies, Handwaving, Hurt Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Whump, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, sibling shenanigans, The batkids are siblings and I will die on this hill, mediocre parent Bruce, (he get's better? maybe?), Awesome Alfred, aftermath of Spyral, discussion of past trauma, Implied/Referenced Non-con, (its Mirage and maybe Tarantula), discussions of ableism/racism, do not copy to another site, Angst with a Happy Ending, Batfam Big Bang, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary: Dick wakes up. This is… not necessarily a good thing.

#batfam big bang 2024 #bbb2024 #bbb 2024 #dc #dc comics #dick grayson #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #gothamites #whump #hurt/comfort #hurt dick grayson #make a splash fic #wg writes

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2danesand1cat · 16 days ago

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Bruce Wayne calling any of his children sweetheart.

Especially if they are hurt or crying or otherwise distraught.

That’s it. That’s the post.

#batman #bruce wayne #bruce wayne is a good dad #batfam #dick grayson #damian wayne #jason todd #tim drake #dc comics #batfamily #robin #cassandra cain #duke thomas #hurt/comfort #terms of endearment #sweetheart is just so tender I can’t

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arttuff · 7 months ago

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some robin 1 and 2 costume headcanons!!!

shorts on jason inspired by rillette on tumblr's amazing jason design. love this bug

imagine going to work at your henchman job and getting beaten up by a larval stage vigilante. i'd be mortified

#robin #dc robin #dick grayson #jason todd #batman #batfamily #batfam #nightwing #red hood #robin dick #robin jason #jason!robin #dick!robin #dc comics #dc #this is not continuity friendly im sorry fellow readers. i just want them to be cute and little #dick around 9 jason around 11 #the timeline changes in new 52 personally hurt me so im looking away

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jasmines-library · 8 months ago

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Hey, I love your Batfam work! Is there any chance you could do a whump/angst one of batsis being kidnapped by a villian(you can choose whoever you want) and she’s tortured for days with it being broadcasted to the Batfam while they try to track the footage. I feel kinda bad but can you do maybe some head trauma md severe burns? Maybe she has to be put in a medically included coma or smth because of the damage? Also is there any way you could include Barb and Duke along w/ the four robins? If not that’s totally cool! Sorry for the long request but I hope you have a great day!!

Anonymous Requested: batfam x batsib reader whos the youngest and newest robin and is just really goofy and doesn’t take anything seriously (ex: them blaring “who’s the (bat)man” on the comms during patrol [that songs stuck in my head i had to mention it]) and something happens, maybe their first close encounter to death or a run in with the joker and they just become a shell of who they were and stuff

Jokes On Me

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Note: My god im so sorry this literally took me forever to write, thank you so much for being patient. I've been trying to write this all week but just couldn't sit down for long enough to finish it.

Warnings: Torture, blood, burns.

Word Count: 2.5k

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

“Y/N, turn that shit off.”

Jason grumbled at you over the coms. You had been blasting some wretched song that you’d found on the internet over and over again and it was beginning to drive him mad.

“Nope.” You said, popping the ‘p’ loudly.

“Seriously.” Dick deadpanned. He had found it amusing at first, but it was now beginning to test his patience.

Agitated, you sighed and turned off the music. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” Jason expressed gratefully, turning his eyes back to the road he was patrolling. The night was cool and quiet besides the odd dog walker or couple returning from an evening out. It was one of those nights where patrol would end early and he could return home to take a warm bath and read a book before turning in for the night. Or so he thought.

You were rounding the corner, humming that tune that was still stuck in your head when his laughter ricocheted across the walls. You stiffened, eyes widening and hands fumbling for your weapon as your breath hitched. No amount of turning and craning your head allowed you to catch a glimpse of the dreaded figure, and you thought for a moment that perhaps it had just been a trick of your mind, or one of your brothers playing a cruel joke on you as payback for winding them up earlier. But then you heard it again, only this time to your left. You clutched your weapon tighter, eyes scanning the area with a new found sense of urgency.

“Wing…” You whispered into the coms so quietly that you were surprised he heard it.

“What now?” He somewhat snapped.

“We have a problem.”

Dick’s heart sank through the floor, his ears pricking up and his demeanour changing completely. “Where are you? What’s the matter? He was trying to let his panic show, but you hadn’t been patrolling as a vigilante for very long, and while you were well trained, you lacked the experience to deal with something big on your own. And from your tone of voice, he could tell that you were in some deep shit.

Jason worked his legs harder to push himself to reach the direction he had seen you head off in. Albeit it seemed even his hardest wasn’t enough.

When he stepped out of the darkness, the first thing you noticed were his eyes. Wide and bright, easily mistakable for a cat’s as they flashed in the darkness; wild. Rabid. As he emerged fully with that infamous twisted grin splayed out on his face, you felt like a cornered animal; a deer in headlights. You froze, unable to move despite how your heart screamed at you to run as it pounded, trying to break free from your ribcage.

“He’s here…” A mere whisper sliding over your tongue, so fragile that you weren’t even sure if you had actually said it aloud. Jason had heard it.

“Who?”

The Joker was circling you now, dragging out his strides in lazy circles. You should have fought but in that moment all of your training had drained out of you, along with the colour in your face. He smirked, leering down upon you as you tried to keep your trembling hand still. He pouted in mockery and at your silence, Jason repeated his question to you, but you never got the chance to respond.

“Oh…Just an old friend, Jay-bird.”

“Joker.” Urging his body to move faster, Jason grit his teeth.

Dick paled. “You leave them alone.” Dick spat. It tried to be a command, but the effect was lost somewhere in transmission.

The joker pursed his lips, tilting his head as he analysed. One of his hands had found his way to your jawline and he trailed it with a cold, gloved hand. You wanted to lean away, to run and find your brother but you knew that now he had you in his grasp there was no point in even trying. “And why would I do that? They’re right in front of me. I could just…snatch them up.”

“Don’t you dare!” Dick was frightened now. “Y/N, you stay there as long as you can, okay? You fight. We’re coming, you hear?”

The Joker frowned at you. “D’you hear that? Big brother birdy coming to the rescue. How sweet.”

His grip on you tightened. “Too bad you’ll be long gone by the time they get here.”

With one swift motion, he had thrown you harshly to the side, your head colliding with the wall with a sickening crack.

The two boys skidded to a halt just a second too late. You were already gone.

Your head hurt when you woke up. Your eyes squinted against the sterile light. They did no favours to your pounding headache. With a groan, you tried to twist, to roll over and soothe the crook in your neck but instead all that happened was the jinging of a metal chain. You craned your head and spotted the thick chain that had been wrapped around your wrist, confining you to the chair. Struggling, you tugged on them, trying to free yourself only for them to rattle and scrape against your skin.

“Yeah, that’s not going anywhere, birdy.” The joker chided.

You glared at him through narrowed eyes, trying to mask the thumping of your heart. The joker grinned wildly at your frightened complexion.

“It was such a shame that Grayson and Todd didn’t get to you in time, but it was far too easy to catch you, little bird: you completely froze.” He snapped his fingers to emphasise his point. “Didn’t batsy teach you better?”

“Don’t talk about them.” You snapped.

The joker raised his hands, palms facing toward you in surrender: taunting you as if you were the one with the power in the situation. “Touchy subject I see. Too bad.”

He gestured above you to an incessantly blinking light. “Smile for the camera, you’re live.”

Babs had been monitoring the street cameras when the computer beside her flickered to life. She had been searching for any sign of you ever since Dick and Jason came flying through the grandfather clock. Everyone was on edge.

The moment the screen flashed on, her eyes perked up to watch it, alarmed. She hadn’t turned it on. And there were very few people who could bypass the caves system. So when she saw a small frame curled up in a chair she knew immediately what was up.

“Duke…” she called to the dark haired boy who was trying to help decipher your whereabouts. “Go and get B.”

It did not take long at all for everyone to gather around in the cave. Duke was fast, and everyone dropped what they were doing to race down: even Alfred had taken his leave from his duties to see.

It was almost like some sick irony because as soon as they were all there, you began to scream. A guttering, perfect scream that cut that through them like a knife: unclean and pinging into them messily again and again.

The joker had taken a knife to your left thigh, his smile dripping with malice as he watched the camera, somehow knowing that at least one of them would be watching.

Your face was contorted in pain, twisting in agony as tears rolled flatly down your cheeks from fearful eyes. Damian felt sick, his stomach churning. Jason wanted to leave. But all of them were stuck watching. Barbra was tapping away, trying to locate the signal from the video to no avail.

“I hope you’re watching this Batsy…” He moved round to trail your face with the edge of the knife. You whimpered. “I’ve got your little bird here and I must say, you need to work on their training. They were far too easy to catch.”

Bruce felt his jaw tightening and Tim had to place a hand on his arm to remind him of his place.

“Anyway I thought we would play a little game… how long can little y/n survive for. I wonder if it’ll be any longer than our very own Jason Todd.”

Jason twitched.

“I’m testing you here, Bat. Tick Tock.”

The transmission cut to black.

It seemed hopeless. Even though they had been searching for days, they were no closer to finding you. And to make matters worse, they could see you. Not long after the first transition ended did it start up again. It had been lifestreaming since then, and although they had tried to block it from their minds, it was hard to ignore. Especially when your agonised screams ricocheted throughout the halls.

You looked like hell. Dark bags occluded under your eyes and there wasn’t an inch of your skin that wasn’t marred or stained with drying blood. The burns were worse. Damian could still hear the scream you let out when the joker first brought the hot poker to your skin. It had bubbled and blistered as the skin peeled away; you had thrashed against your restraints violently. Tim was certain that they were going to get infected if they didn’t reach you soon.

It felt as if they had searched everywhere. Dick and Jason had even asked around to see if anyone had heard anything, going as far to talk to the Jokers closest associates in Arkham, but even if they did know, nobody said anything. Duke had even gone as far to go back to the area to use his powers to see if he could trace anything, but nothing seemed out of place; they had hit a brick wall. That was…until a small light appeared on the monitor. Babs had managed to trace the signal to a small building on the outskirts of the city.

They were suited up in minutes, making a beeline for the building. They stormed it, recklessly taking down the Joker's goons before Batman chased wildly after the Joker, his face stony and his fists burning with anger. The other four boys chased down the winding corridors, flinging open the doors until they found one that was locked. Tim wasted no time, picking the lock with ease he peeled it open. His breath hitched when he saw you.

Your face was gaunt, hanging low by your chest. Your suit was torn and there was less of it on your body than there was ripped away. You looked so fragile as your chest heaved sporadically.

Jason nearly had to take a step back. This place reminded himself too much of his own encounter with the Joker not too long ago. But he pressed forward, fighting his instincts. He had to be strong. Instead of turning back, he kneeled in front of you, whispering your name. His hand came up to cup your face. You flinched away.

“It’s okay kid. It’s us.” He tried to reassure you, but you shrank back into yourself.

“We’re so, so sorry kiddo.” Dick tried placing a gentle hand on your arm before moving to work on the cuffs around your wrists. “We’re going to get you out.”

You said nothing, just continued to stare at the black space before you, and Dami wasn’t sure if you even knew they were in front of you. But when Jason moved away from you to help remove your restraints, your fingers latched onto him and you squeaked in protest.

He sighed shakily. “Don’t worry kid. I’m not going anywhere.”

Damian twisted from where he was guarding the door. “We need to leave.”

Dick nodded bluntly, finishing with the last of the locks. “I’m going to have to pick you up, okay sweetheart?”

You barely registered what he had said. Everything had grown numb, you nodded anyhow. Moving his arms underneath your legs and slipping one arm behind your back, Jason began to lift you. He nearly recoiled when you cried and whimpered with the way your wounds jostled as he sprinted out of the building to get you back to safety.

You were yet to say anything since you came home. You had been back a few days and your wounds were healing up nicely thanks to Alfred’s handywork, but the air was eerily silent around you. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t been communicating with them; you spoke to them with gestures or writing but no one was used to not hearing your voice. The stark contrast between your loud and bustling personality and you now was unsettling. No one wanted to push you too far but the manor was beginning to grow lonely.

It was one particularly rainy night when you finally spoke. You were curled up in a large armchair by the window in the library, sinking back into the plush leather as you watched the raindrops race down the glass. Jason had been watching you from afar, contemplating whether to talk to you or not when he walked over.

“What are you up to?” He asked you, making sure you knew that he was there before he spoke.

You gestured toward the window,then to the half opened book at your feet and shrugged.

“I see.” He nodded, taking a seat on the armchair opposite you. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Jason wasn’t much of a talker. He knew more than anyone what you were going through, which was why it was nice just to know that he was willing to sit with you, just so you knew that he was there if you needed him. It made you feel safe. But you also couldn’t help but feel guilty, and frustrated with yourself for being in a place that made him feel as though he had to do that.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered.

Jason had to do a second take. His heart swelled. “What for?”

You sighed. “This. When I saw him…i-i froze. If I had run then this would never have happened.”

“Shh. This isn’t your fault.”

“But-”

“I promise, Kid. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

You nodded, looking away from him. But then you furrowed your brows and turned back to him. “How did you do it? How did you deal with this, Jay? Every time I close my eyes he’s there.”

“I guess I don’t, really. Or sometimes it feels like I don’t. I still get scared sometimes. I still see him in my dreams. But over time it gets easier. I had people around me to help me. And so do you, kid. We’re here. We’ll always be here.”

Jason shifted to brush away a rogue tear and you leaned into his touch and then wrapped your arms tightly around his middle.

“I’m here. Always. We’ll get through this together.”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

BATFAM TAGS

@aestheticdaisies @hearts4robs @xxrougefangxx @mamapucket @hell-o-kittys @harleycao @batfamsstuff @alicedawitchbish

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deadsetobsessions · 10 months ago

Text

What Do You Have There?

A knife!

Danny plunked the butter knife in its pedestal of importance. The nice thing about having a billionaire vigilante for a... foster is the amount of money Danny was allowed to drop on his hobbies. For example, his extensive collection of souvenirs.

They're not just any old regular souvenirs. No, no, no. That would be so boring! No, these souvenirs, he obtained from the various muggings, knife fights, and various other situations he's been in ever since he was dropped ungraciously into Gotham.

The butter knife? Damian. Precocious, stabby Damian who he had startled into the stab instinct. A point of pride, really. Danny knew Damian was good at fighting! It was practically, in ghost terms, a super enthusiastic hello! Yes, the butter knife would be kept in the well lit part of the wall. Alfred had told him to stay home today to recuperate. He didn't need it, since the wound would heal in an hour or two, but he'd take staying at home any day.

A couple of hours later, well into the afternoon and right before what Danny knew to be their patrol hours, Danny had a visitor.

"Danny."

"Oh, hey, Damian! What's up?" Danny turned around to see Damian hovering awkwardly near the door.

"I am here to... check upon your wound. It is imperative that it gets proper treatment."

Ancients, Damian was exactly like those alley kids. He just ate a thesaurus instead of the drawling accent the alley kids picked up. Which meant Damian endeared himself to Danny pretty quickly. Like a little ghostling.

"Oh, I'm good. See? No blood is leaking out of the wound." Danny held up spotless bandages.

Danny watched Damian step into his haunt- his room- with a pleased hum. Damian inspected the bandages and stepped back with a sharp nod of approval. His eyes flicked to the wall that Danny was rearranging (again) and did a double take at the butter knife in the middle.

"Is that the butter knife I stabbed you with?"

"Why, yes, it is!" Danny beamed.

"Why on earth would you display that?"

"Because you stabbed me with it?"

"That makes absolutely no sense, you simpleton! When someone stabs you, stab them back!"

"That would be mean!"

Damian spluttered. Danny tugged the kid closer to the wall, cheering inwardly as Damian didn't shove him away. It might be because he was exaggeratedly wincing as he moved his "injured arm" but Danny has learned to take a win where he could find them, especially with ghosts. Not that Damian was a ghost, but he sure acted like one.

"Do you want to see my collection?"

"Your collection?"

"Yeah!" Without giving him time to answer, Danny barreled ahead. "So this is the knife you stabbed me with. Which, by the way, was an awesome show of strength and accuracy."

Damian grimaced. Danny continued blithely, secretly memorizing Damian's reactions to laugh at later.

"And this is the knife those guys stabbed me with that one time Cass found me. And this one is a bullet someone shot at me down by the docks. I think I interrupted some kind of meeting?"

Damian's jaw had a slight tick to it that would have been a baffled frown on anyone else.

"And when was this?"

"Oh, like a week ago."

"What? When did you go to the docks?!"

"At night. I couldn't sleep."

"And you went to the docks?! How did you even get there?!"

"Walked," Danny lied, like a lying liar. He floated, obviously, but none of them knew that. "Anyways, this is a law book! Someone threw it at my head!"

"Hey, guys! What're you doing?"

Danny and Damian turned around.

"Richard? Brown? What are you doing here?"

"Oh, Bruce wanted me to come back for the weekend," Dick said. Danny knew it was code for "something's going down and we need back up." Man, he still couldn't believe they didn't know he knew they were crime fighting vigilantes.

"Same!" Stephanie said. Danny was glad to see that her wounds from "cartwheeling in the manor" were healed.

"I see. Danny was showing me his collection of... objects people have used as weapons against him."

"What?!"

"Yeah!" Danny beamed, completely innocent. "Come on! I'll show you!"

With that, Danny continued to ramble. He just knew that the way Dick's and Stephanie's smiles strained would give him a good laugh for weeks to come. "And this is the glass bottle a drunk tried to shank me with in Crime Alley, and this is a knife the Red Hood himself threw at me."

Dick interrupted, face stiff. "Hood threw a knife at you?!"

"Yeah, but that was because my kids broke into his safe house and I was trying to get them to stop looting the place. And he didn't know I was a kid too, so he aimed a gun at my head. He shot at me too, but I couldn't go back to get the bullet, or else it would have joined my collection." Danny grabbed a box and shook it, metal rattling inside.

Dick smiled sweetly, Stephanie and Damian inching away from it.

"Oh, wow, I see!"

----

In his apartment, Jason shuddered. He grabbed his guns.

"Something's wrong. I just know it," he muttered to himself.

----

Danny smiled innocently as he described the horrific, near death events he got his souvenirs from.

"This is my bullet box! Man, Gotham has a lot of gun fights. I got shot so many times!" Danny complained, shaking the box like a rattling toy.

"Did you know Danny snuck out to go to the bay?" Damian snitched immediately, like a snitch.

"The Bay?! Danny! You know that's where people dump bodies, right?!" Stephanie poked him in the arm.

"Yeah, but like... I wouldn't die. And besides! I missed my friends!"

"You mean the minions you made in Crime Alley?" Steph asked. Danny pouted, eyeing the way Dick's gaze roved over his souvenirs and paling the more he realized how often Danny "got hurt."

Damian bumped a shoulder against Dick's arm. Danny returned to the conversation.

"If anything, I'm their minion." He said, remembering the times the Alley kids sent him on food runs.

"Fear Danny, the overlord of street rats."

Danny snorted. And- "Oh! Yeah, there was like a weird owl looking guy? And then they stabbed me with a finger and I kept it because woah, cool talon looking thing, right? And then they threw a bunch of those tiny knives at me? And then they just kind of vanished? Gotham is so weird."

And now, with all of them pale and stressed out of their minds, Danny swung a devastating blow called guilt trip.

"And that's the batarangs!" Three heads swung over to the line of batarangs. "Those vigilantes kept throwing them at me! One of them even hit me in the arm. Those things are sharp, man."

"Uh. Which ones?" Stephanie asked.

"Hm?" Danny hummed obliviously.

"Do you know which vigilantes?"

"Oh, it was like... the purple one. And the sword one? And like the one with the yellow insignia in the middle. And... all of them, I think? Except for signal. That guy's cool."

Stephanie and Damian had matching veiled looks of guilt. Dick shot them a sharp look. Danny decided to deal the last bit of damage to Dick.

"I'm glad you guys are way less stabby than the general Gotham public though, butter knife incident aside. At least I don't have to worry about you guys getting into danger, right? If you guys got hurt like my family did... I don't know..."

Danny smiled-squinted at them, channeling Cujo at his cutest and saddest: when he doesn't get to eat off of Danny's plate. So, pretty sad and pathetic.

"Uh, yeah." Dick said, guilt splayed all over his face. "Alfred said dinner was almost ready."

"Yes," Damian cleared his throat, looking away. "We shall partake in Pennyworth's hard work."

"Ahaha!" Stephanie laughed, nervously. "Welp, let's go bother Tim!"

Falling into step behind them, Danny grinned.

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